


A Heap Of Clothes On The Floor

by soundofthesurf



Category: Take That
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:45:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundofthesurf/pseuds/soundofthesurf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason's just like everyone else, or is he not?</p><p> </p><p> "Why they believed him, Jason would never quite understand. But he never got what it was people saw in him anyway and so he didn’t understand why no one who found out over the years, thought it was weird at all, but the perfect explanation. Jason never quite joined them in their enthusiasm, though, he still thought it was strange."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Heap Of Clothes On The Floor

**Author's Note:**

> A weird little story from a couple of years back, trying to explain some of Jason's more...slightly odd behaviour at times. If you read carefully, you'll see what I mean. ;-) Not one of my best stories and un-beta'ed, that's why I haven't posted this one earlier. But I'm quite fond of it and somehow had to think of it a lot lately, while trying to come to terms with Jason's big decision. So, yeah, here it is and maybe you'll like it too.
> 
> Originally this was (and still is, of course) a birthday gift for the wonderful Malinda, aka Jelliclerose.

Paul and James were the first ones to find out, and that was shortly after Robbie had left. (Looking back many years later, James would often think that they’d found out a lot earlier, if Rob hadn’t kept them that busy.) The day they found out, Jason hadn’t answered Paul’s wake-up knock-on-the-door and so Paul used his keys to check if Jason was okay. (They always had keys to the boys’ rooms, from day one on, Nigel had made sure of that.) The room was completely silent and Jason was nowhere to be seen. All Paul found was a heap of clothes on the floor. It wasn’t a drunk-Jason-style-spread-all-over-the-room-heap, and not a sober-Jason-style-neatly-tidied-up-on-a-chair-heap either. One full set of clothing, including shoes and watch. Paul sensed trouble.

When he returned with James (Rule # 1: Never include more people than necessary before you’re absolutely sure it _is_ a problem.) Jason was back. He sat on the bed, naked, shivering, blankly staring into space. The heap of clothes was still on the floor.

The only reason Jason told them the truth (in the future he would avoid that in situations like these) was that he was still in what he called “the-returning-tremble”. He would manage to master this state better over the years. Drinking water, he learned, helped him recover faster, so he made sure there was always enough of it within his reach. But in those early days, when it had all just begun, he didn’t know there was relief and returning left him in a complete daze.

Why they believed him, Jason would never quite understand. But he never got what it was people saw in him anyway and so he didn’t understand why no one who found out over the years, thought it was weird at all, but the perfect explanation. Jason never quite joined them in their enthusiasm, though, he still thought it was strange.

It got a lot easier for him after Paul and James knew. In fact, with their help he managed to bring Take That Take One to an end without any of the others knowing what was going on. When he finally decided to join Take That Take Two he knew he couldn't keep Gary, Mark and Howard in the dark, so before the first contract was signed, he sat them down to talk. Needless to say that they weren't really astonished.

 

****

**Summer 2005. Glasgow, the roofgarden of a luxurious hotel, night. Mark, Jason.**  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
“Sure, go on.”  
“What’s it like, I mean, where are you when you do it?”  
“Mmmmh, you mean within the person?”  
“You’re in the person?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Bugger. I thought you were on their shoulders or…”  
“You mean like the devil and the angel in comics?”  
“Silly, eh?”  
“No, no….but I’m not on the outside, I have no shape, I’m…disembodied…”  
“And….you’re inside the people?”  
“Yeah, kind of….”  
“That explains the clothes thing...when you're...'disembodied’…when you’re inside of people…can you see what they see? Can you feel what they feel? Can you make them move?”  
“No. No. None of that. I’m not a puppeteer…I can only make them think, I’m a like a voice, I can speak to their thoughts, kind of…I….it’s difficult to explain, really.”  
“But if you can’t see or feel anything, how do you know what to do? How do you know what’s wrong with them?”  
“I can feel what they feel, like emotions, fears, joy….I just can’t feel anything physical, like pain, or heat, or cold….you know? But I can hear or sense what they think and feel and then I can say something helpful, reassuring, disapproving…whatever necessary…well, I don’t really speak…I think it, kind of…it’s really difficult to explain…”  
“Do you think they remember you when you’re gone?”  
“No…I suppose it’s more like when you know you had a dream, but you don’t exactly remember what the dream was about, you only know that it was something nice ….it must be something like that. I guess. I don’t really know.”  
“Do you remember them?”  
(A pause.)  
“Yes.”  
“All of them?”  
(An even longer pause.)  
“Yes.”  
“Bugger.”

* * *

Socks became a problem. Even though Jason found ways to minimize the haze after re-disappearing, the irritating blurry feeling was still there. But in the hectic of Take That Take Two he didn’t always have the time to recover completely before he needed to step out into the world again. He would have to dress quickly, while his mind was still busy with other things. They noticed he’d wear stuff that wouldn’t really fit together (well, Mark did), or he’d forgotten to put on a jumper over his T-Shirt, or he’d wear gloves but no scarf, and such. These things they could easily adjust. But they didn’t see if he was wearing underwear or socks. If he forgot to put on pants, well, it wasn’t pleasant for him, but no one would notice. But socks were a problem. It was an awkward moment, when they were on this German chat show and noticed he wasn’t wearing socks. The host of the show noticed. The camera-man noticed. The girls in the first row noticed. Lots of Germans in front of the telly noticed. Fortunately Jason only noticed after the show was over, he’d have died on his seat if he’d known. They started checking if he was wearing socks after that. Mark and Howard started carrying a pair of black socks around with them everywhere they went, Mark in his huge man bags, Howard in the pockets of his various coats.

 

 **October 2007. London, the lounge in Jason’s flat, late evening. Gary, Howard, Mark, Jason.**  
  
“Lads, he’s back!”  
“Finally…”  
“Jay? Here’s water. We’re a bit late, mate.”  
“We’ll help you get dressed.”  
“Where are we going?”  
“Stardust premiere.”  
“Ah, yeah, right…”  
“Mark! Where are you? We need his outfit!”  
“Coming, Gaz, coming. I think I found the trousers…hi Jay!”  
“Hi, Markie.”  
“Howard, go get his shoes, I’ve seen them in the hall. - Gaz, we’d need his hair gel, could you…? - Jay, I can’t find your shirt and waistcoat, where are they?”  
“Huh? Dunno…weren’t they where the trousers were?”  
“No.”  
“I’m sorry, Mark, I can’t think properly…”  
“Don’t worry, I’ll find something.”  
“You alright, mate?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Sure?”  
“Yeah. What are you doing?”  
“I’m lacing your shoes.”  
“Oh…okay…thanks.”  
“What’s this, Mark?”  
“A jumper…it’s the only thing that’s clean and halfway fits with the trousers and the shoes…it will have to do.”

* * *

He soon noticed he never disappeared from crowded places, but only when he was alone. Whoever had chosen him for this, had chosen him wisely: he was not someone who could constantly be in company. Keeping company alone was no cure, though. Even if you try to surround yourself with people all the time, you need to go to the loo every now and again.

 

 **November 2010. London. Lounge of a luxurious hotel suite, late morning. Jason, journalist, Gary, Howard, Robbie, Mark; camera man, cable puller (without text).**  
  
“….that’s what I’m going to do for the next year, anyway.”  
“Right, thanks for the interview!”  
“Thank you for the nice questions!”  
“Now, shall we have a short break before you start discussing each track?”  
“Yeah.”  
“More coffee!”  
“Definitely.”  
“Is there tea as well?”  
“Uhmmm….dunno….”  
“Gary? Coffee?”  
“No, thanks.”  
“Jay? How about you? Coffee? Tea?”  
“No, thanks, mate. I need to…do you know where the loo is?”

* * *

His biggest fear in the early years was that he wouldn’t exactly return to the same spot he’d been before, but somewhere out of reach of the heap of clothes he left behind. That never happened, though, and he was more than grateful it didn’t. It was difficult enough without that.

 

 **March 2008. London, a recording studio, afternoon. Gary, Jason.**  
  
“I can’t help it, I always think you get changed in some phone booth.”  
“Gaz, I’m not superman…”  
“Well, you don’t really get changed anyway, do you?”  
“No. I just strip. Coz I’m that sublime.”  
“And you don’t get to wear a swish costume, poor lad!”  
“I have lots of swish costumes, you know? I’m a member of a famous boyband…”  
“Oh really? Which one??”  
“Westlife.”  
“Never heard of ‘em.”  
(Giggling.)

* * *

In the first years he used to be genuinely confused when he was “inside” someone. Looking back at how clumsily he worked his way through people’s thoughts back then made him cringe. But no one had ever told him just how to do this – he had to figure it all by himself. He constructed a kind of standard procedure, checking a couple of things when he arrived (male or female, young or old, child or grown-up, thoughts or emotions) and then work his way from there. Over the years he learned to mainly use his intuition and not to over-analyze what he got confronted with. It wasn’t always right to agree with their thoughts, and it wasn’t always right to disagree. Sometimes less was more, sometimes he felt he needed to make more of an effort. But after all, there were no rules to this.

 

**February 2011. London, a lounge in Gary’s studio, early afternoon. Mark, Gary, Howard, Robbie; Jason.**

  


“The girl from Daw Bell called again. She’s worried about Twitter and such.”  
“Now, that’s a worry I share for once.”  
“What’s she worried about?”  
“Fans go crazy on Twitter and in the forums…they’re worried about Jay…she thinks we should issue a statement.”  
“Oh, and what are we supposed to say? ‘Don’t worry, dear fans, Jason is neither ill nor in hospital, he just disappears every now and again to slip into people’s heads and help them with their issues??’”  
“Not really an option, I know…”  
“It’s a shame we don’t know how all of that works...if we could control his disappearing, we could use it as top prize in competitions…”  
“Like ‘Enter the competition and win a Jay-in-your-head’?”  
“You know, I suppose most of these greedy vultures out there would prefer the freshly-returned-Jay. In their bedroom. That’d be quite a prize…”  
“I don’t know, he’s always pretty bedazzled after returning…”  
“Yeah, but he’s NAKED, dumbhead!”  
“Ah, right…well, that might attract some people.”  
“Dunno, he’s not getting any younger, is he?”  
“Yeah, and way too skinny, that lad is!”  
“I’d not be that skinny if you left some of the chocolate for me, y’know?”  
“Jay! Fuck! One day you’ll scare me to death!”  
“Your clothes are on the sofa behind you.”  
“I’ll get you water!”  
“They were selling you as first prize for competitions! I objected!”  
“Oh, Mark, don’t be such a snitch!”  
“Well, at least then people would stop asking what I’m in this band for.”  
“Oh, Jay…”  
“You know what me Mum always says? ‘You’re allowed to ask everything, but you ‘re not allowed to know everything.’”  
“Your Mum’s a wise woman, Rob.”  
“Can I quote her when I call the girl from Daw Bell back??”

* * *

If there was something he learned from it, it was that there is nothing that was not happening in the world. If people could think of something, they’d do it sooner or later. Everything could happen. Anywhere on this planet. He needed to acknowledge this, without judgement, in order to stay sane. Most of the people he “visited” were so different from him, with different ethics, from a social background he knew nothing about. Who was he to judge what was right or wrong in Malaysia or El Salvador or Marocco? What could he possibly tell people from the other side of the planet to help them through a problem he could neither imagine nor understand? Kant’s Categorial Imperative would prove itself useful. He was capable of thinking it in some three dozen different ways, so all kinds of intellects and ages would understand.

 **April 2006. London, a café, late afternoon. Howard, Jason.**  
  
“Is that why you read all that stuff? To find answers for their questions?”  
“No.”  
“No?”  
“No. I just love reading.

* * *

They’d been wondering whether to tell Robbie. Was he ready for this? Was he stable enough to not belt this out in the first interview? Before they’d come to a conclusion, Jason disappeared from the vocal booth while recording “Flowerbed”. Staring at the heap of clothes on the floor, all Rob said was “So, are you going to tell me now?” – “You know?” Gary was astonished. – “I was guessing. We always knew he was…special, didn’t we? Now tell me all.” They did and just like everyone else he understood. And never once blagged anything out. Ayda started carrying around a pair of black socks in her handbags, though.

* * *

 **February 2010. Los Angeles, a patio in Robbie’s garden, evening. Robbie, Jason.**  
  
“How do you stay sane?”  
“You think I’m sane?”  
(Giggling.)  
“You know what I mean.”  
“Yeah…you know…I never told anyone…you might find it weird…”  
“Any weirder than you appearing out of nowhere with no clothes on?”  
“Fair point. Well…you know…mmmhh, you know that moment sometimes, on stage, when you look into the audience and there’s all these faces and you look around and then you meet a pair of eyes that seem…familiar…like you’ve seen them before…?”  
“Mmmmhhh, yeah…”  
“Well, sometimes - just sometimes - there’s a pair of eyes that’s…even more familiar…d'you know what I mean?”  
“You think it’s someone you’ve helped?”  
“Yeah…but maybe I just want to believe that.”  
“If it keeps you sane, it doesn’t matter, right?”  
”Yeah."  
“Pretty clever, eh?”  
"Yeah, mate, pretty clever."

* * *

He never appeared within someone he knew. And no one he appeared to, knew him. He wasn’t Jason Orange of Take That fame when he was 'inside' people, he was…well, he didn’t really know that. A spirit. A voice of reason. Affirmation. Hope. Faith. Belief. There were a million names for it. No matter how much time he spent thinking about it, he couldn’t figure it out. At times, it drove him mad, other times he felt safe in the belief he would understand it all one day. 'Keep calm and carry on, mate,' he'd tell himself.

Gary, Mark, Howard and Robbie, however, knew what people like Jason were called.  
  
Guardian angels.  
Simple, really.


End file.
